


Fire, Fire, Sun

by astrocartographer



Series: To Be Cared for by Another [3]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Reunion Sex, Rough Sex, ish? not really, it's just porn folks!, the guardian gets thoroughly railed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrocartographer/pseuds/astrocartographer
Summary: You've been wanting him for weeks, but your schedules haven't aligned, and you're not exactly the "quickie in an alleyway" kind of couple.-[guardian's gender up for interpretation. one chapter for each set of junk a human can have.]
Relationships: Female Guardian/Saint-14 (Destiny), Guardian/Saint-14 (Destiny), Male Guardian/Saint-14 (Destiny), Nonbinary Guardian/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Series: To Be Cared for by Another [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652452
Comments: 6
Kudos: 109





	1. 1.1

**Author's Note:**

> ch1 features a guardian with a vagina.

As soon as your apartment door shuts, the two of you are all over each other. It feels like centuries since the two of you shared anything more than a polite kiss. Your hands are everywhere; Saint has a handful of your ass, and you palm the shape of his pectoral plate with the hand that isn't holding him to your face. His void licks at you like an icy flame, and in return your arc dances along his arms and shoulders. You grind your hips into him, and he moans softly, and oh, how you've missed that sound. 

The two of you have been remarkably unlucky lately. The Vanguard has had you off-planet frequently, and on top of them, your other contacts in the Reef and on Mercury have kept you away from Earth. The few times you've been back, Saint has been busy with his own tasks. You've barely had time to converse in person, let alone have a romantic evening together. You've missed him in more ways than one, and there's only so much a few spicy texts can do for your libido. You've been wanting him for weeks, but your schedules haven't aligned, and you're not exactly the "quickie in an alleyway" kind of couple. The two of you need time and space to do this right, and tonight, the opportunity has arisen. 

It takes a somewhat embarrassing amount of time for you to realize that the tongue caressing your lips is corporeal. Saint has a tongue mod in. This absolutely delights you, and what delights you more is the sensation of something definitely larger than his mons gradually hardening against your thigh. Oh, you’re getting  _ deep _ dick tonight. 

You break off from kissing him partially to breathe. He takes up kissing your neck, the soft skin under your jaw, and palms at your chest. He's just as eager as you are. After stealing a few moments to bask in the sensation of his mouth on your skin, you place a hand on his face and guide him to look at you. 

"Let's go to bed, hey?" you murmur. He nods vigorously in response. 

"May I carry you, my love?" he asks. There's no hint of the usual shyness in his voice that comes with him asking something of you. The sudden courageousness makes your heart beat faster.

"Yeah," you say, and Saint sweeps you into his arms. Any time Saint's carried you like this, you've found yourself giggling like a child. Being scooped up by such a muscular man just gives you the laughs. It’s sort of silly and ridiculous to be cradled like this, but you love it. 

You traverse the apartment, and Saint sets you on the bed, facing him. You drag him down immediately. You don’t have time for the formality of lovemaking. You want Saint, and you want him  _ now.  _ He seems equally eager, wiggling out of his pants as you pull him on top of you. You feel his cock against you, supple silicone rubbing against your thigh, and you reach down and grab it in a loose fist. Saint’s fans kick up with a whine as he moans into your mouth. You slowly learn the length of the shaft, the anatomy of the tip. It’s not one of the fancy ones with fluids or anything, but you’re not picky, especially not right now. 

You retract your hand and hook a leg around his hips, trying to nudge him into rolling over. “Lie down, lie down,” you say urgently. Saint obliges you, rolling onto his back, and you thrust your hips against him. He makes a sound remarkably like a gasp.

“My love, the lubricant -”

“Fuck the lube,” you say breathlessly, and kiss his mouth, his stomach, the tip of his cock. 

“I’ve hardly gotten your clothes off - ah!” 

You barely hear him as you take as much of him into your mouth as you can. Saint shouts and barely restrains himself from bucking his hips against you. You’re thankful for that; as eager as you are to suck him off, you also don’t want to end up missing teeth. Saint’s body is a powerful machine, and while you’re not made of glass, he could very easily break you. You’re not feeling like calling your Ghost in to fix a shattered face tonight. 

You settle into a steady rhythm, laving over his dick with your lips and tongue and the occasional soft graze of teeth. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you pleasure with your hand. It’s messy, and a little gross, but all you want is to hear Saint moan (and, boy, is he fulfilling that wish) and to get his dick in you as fast as possible. Saint squirms under your ministrations, muttering disjointed praise, desperate after weeks of nothing. You love it when he’s like this - flustered, moaning your name, and at your mercy.

(Just lubing him up and getting him to stick it in you would be faster. You know this. You both know this. But, neither of you are complaining, and frankly, fucking Saint into overstimulation is something you’ve been longing to do for what feels like eons.) 

“My love,” he says, and the words are filled with static, “I will not last.” 

_ I know, _ you want to reply, but your mouth is full of dick. You don’t want him to. You want to hear him, to feel his heat, to remember the sounds of his you’ve spent many lonely evenings trying to recreate in your own mind.

The hot air from his vents ruffles your hair like a stiff breeze. You begin to work faster, and he arches his hips into you. He’s gentle about it, and you can tell it’s taking him tremendous effort to hold back. His thighs tremble with the strain. 

His moans grow higher and higher in pitch until they disappear as his modulator clicks off. He’s close. You take him as deep as you can, drawing your tongue from what must be hilt to tip. With one final thrust of his hips, he comes, his thighs clenching (again, gently) around your head. As you help him ride out the orgasm, his hands card through your hair. It’s a cute, tender gesture. You know how much he loves to do that. 

You pull off him and sit up on your knees. While he’s recovering, his fans whirring, you set out to strip yourself of your clothes. Saint watches you through lidded eyes. His gaze traces the contour of your hipbone, the curve of your chest. You blush under his appraisal. It’s hard to explain how that look makes you feel. Right now, it’s certainly making you feel something deep in your loins. 

As you’re just about out of your undergarments, Saint sits up and shifts toward you to pull you into a kiss. It amazes you how a robot man twice your size and thrice your weight can feel so soft against you. You’ve kissed him a  _ lot, _ but it never fails to surprise you. When he’s not taking huge chunks out of enemy numbers, he might be the gentlest creature alive. 

When you've discarded your underwear, he hauls you into his lap. You pull yourself as close to him as you can.  Your chests meet, and his cock, still slick, is pressed against your stomach . Saint's tongue is in your mouth, and his hands trace the musculature of your back. You feel perfectly at home here. 

But, you have things that need attending to. You break off from kissing Saint. His eyes bore into yours, searching for your desires. Thankfully, he doesn't have to look very hard to find them. 

"I need you to fuck me," you say in a voice that's barely above a whisper. 

His hand trails over your shoulder and down your chest. When his thumb touches your nipple, you shudder. "You're not ready," he murmurs, painting circles across it with the soft padding of his thumb. 

"Come on, Saint," you whine. " I'm so wet already . Just fuck me."

It feels lewd to say, like something out of a porno. But it's true. 

His hand moves lower, over your stomach. "I won't be responsible for hurting you."  One large finger toys with your clit and you make a sound halfway between a moan and a growl. 

You shove his shoulder out of desperation. "Stop fucking teasing me like this!"  Two fingers now . "Asshole!" 

He looks up at you, eyes wide with fake innocence, like a kid who just broke his neighbour's window playing soccer. "No need for such language, my bird." You bite your lip and let out a strangled whine. "Lie down. I will take care of you."

"Saint!" You grab him by the chin and force him to look at you. "I need you to rail me. Like, now." 

His mouth quirks mischievously, and you want to slap him. "Lie down, then, and we will get there."

You say several rude words in frustration as you slide off his lap and position yourself on your back against some cushions. Thank the Traveler, Saint wastes no more time and slips a finger into you as soon as you're ready. You're embarrassed by how loud your pleasured groan is. You've been getting yourself off while the two of you have been apart, but there's nothing like the feeling of someone else finger-fucking you. 

His second finger goes in with no problem.  You’re so wet that it hardly matters that he’s doubled the width of what’s going in there. Saint kisses the inside of your thigh as he works, and the sensation shoots fire into your loins. 

“Please,” you say. “I’m ready, I swear.” 

Saint nuzzles your thigh and hot air fans across your skin. “I am not taking any chances.”

You appreciate the concern, and on most other nights, you’d be happy that he’s taking such care. Tonight, though, you’re beyond frustrated, and you  _ know  _ he’s teasing you at this point. You want to tell him that, but all that comes out of your mouth is an irritated huff that’s cut off by Saint curling his fingers up inside you. 

By the time he fits a third finger in, you’re desperately thrusting your hips into his hand. It feels good, but it’s not  _ enough.  _ You want to feel Saint - all of him - inside you. You want him to fuck you into oblivion. To wherever void Light comes from. 

He finally pulls out. You feel like you’ve exhausted all forms of begging him, so thank god that’s over. You scramble onto your knees, ass up, face nuzzled in your bed’s many pillows, while Saint readies himself. He draws a long, appreciative stroke down your back with one hand, and wastes no time after that. 

The two of you moan in unison when his cock goes in. He feels  _ so good.  _ He fills you just right; not too much, but enough that every inch of surface area inside you is touching him. He’s perfect. Head to toe, lips to dick, he is perfect. 

“As hard as you can.” It’s difficult to find balance between feeling deliciously out of breath and raising your voice enough to get over the muffling effect of your pillows. “Please.” 

“You will tell me if it is too much?” 

“Yes,” you reply, and wiggle your hips impatiently. You hear him chuckle softly, and then his hands grip your hips.

The first few thrusts are slow as he finds his pace and warms you both up. You encourage him with little moans and he goes faster, faster, until the bed shakes from the force. Fuck, it feels good. You're both running so hot, and he's fucking you so hard you see stars. Maybe. You're not sure. Maybe he's got some void Light fuckery going on. Either way, it's  _ delightful.  _

You honestly can't contain yourself. You moan at him, speak to him, urge him on with whimpers and praise that draw low noises of pleasure out of him in response. “Please - Saint - ah -  _ ohgodIloveyousomuch - _ ”

He slows slightly, but you're not mad. The lengthy draw of his cock in and out of you is enough sensation to make you gasp. One of his hands drifts away from your hips, and you suddenly feel the pads of his fingers on your clit . Ever the gentleman.  He's right - you probably won't come just from penetration . But, you want him to focus on fucking you as hard and as fast as he can. You grab his wrist and guide his hand away, replacing his  fingers  with your own and  rubbing out quick, desperate circles across your clit . Saint resumes his pace from earlier, and the sensation of him fucking you and you pleasuring yourself is almost too much. 

You feel his hips start to stutter against you. Heat from his fans washes over your back like a wave. Saint bows forward, his chest nearly flush against your lower back, and comes with a glorious moan that drives you higher, higher, but not quite there yet. He notices you still going at it and does his best to recover quickly enough to start thrusting into you again before you lose the orgasm you’re chasing. 

He moves arrhythmically now, still fast and hard, but at an unpredictable swing that forces you to shove your face into your pillows to keep from  _ screaming.  _ He’s so good. He’s so good to you, he knows you so well. You throw your admiration at him through fractured moaning. 

“My bird, you are radiant,” he says, and you feel the vibration of his baritone through your whole body. You sob. You’ve never said it to him, but you know he knows how much you love the sound of his voice and his praise. 

Finally, you feel your orgasm approaching in earnest. Your whole lower belly lights up with sensation as though it’s about to burst into flames. Saint feels it, and works a little faster (which seems like it might be impossible, but he still does it). He whispers your name, tells you how good you are, how much he’s missed this, you, how beautiful you look. 

You howl his name into the pillows like it’s being ripped from your lungs and weeks of longing spills out of your shuddering, tired body as you come like you never have before. Sparks scatter across the pillows and dissipate into the air. Your body all but dissolves into the sheets. Saint is there to catch you, looping one strong arm around your waist and tenderly fucking you through the waves of pleasure that make you tremble and cry out. After what must be centuries of delightful overstimulation, Saint pulls out and lowers your tired body down onto the bed, rolling you onto your back. 

God, you love him. 

For a while, everything is hazy. You close your eyes as your head swims and your  clit  twitches with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Other sensations gradually return - the feeling of being out of breath, the heat of Saint’s body next to you, the sound of him murmuring acclamation at you, his hand running through your hair. You relish in it for a few moments longer before opening your eyes and looking at your lover. 

“I imagine you missed me?” He’s propped up on his side, cushioning his head with one arm and using that hand to play with your hair. 

You snort at him. “That’s one way to put it.” 

He chuckles softly. “I missed you, too.” He sits up and leans over you, kissing your mouth softly, but with desperation. The hand he’s not using to hold himself up skates along your waist and travels the length of your hipbone to rest between your legs. 

“Whoa, hey,” you murmur. He stops immediately. “I need, like, five minutes.” 

He chuckles again and vents a soft breath into your face. “Of course, my love. I will get you some water.” 

“Aw.” You pat his cheek. “You care about me or something?” 

Saint shakes his head, but he’s smiling. 

You would love to keep going here and now for the whole entire night if you could, but you need a breather. The Light can speed up recovery time, but even a power so strong as yours can’t instantly bring you back from the hardest you’ve probably ever come in your immortal life. Saint, the lucky bastard, doesn’t have to worry about that, but your flesh body can only take so much. 

Saint returns with a glass of cold water before you even notice he’s left. You thank him quietly and sit up against the headboard of your bed so you don’t spill all over yourself when you try to drink. You didn’t realize how dry your throat was until that first sip. It feels good to be hydrated, and you’re glad Saint thought about it. As you sit in silence, you look at your body and notice thumbprint shaped bruises on your hips. Oops. The man responsible for those putters about the room as you drink, picking up discarded clothes and pillows shoved off the bed. 

You pause for a moment and observe how you feel now that you’ve come down from your post-orgasm delirium. Can you go another round? You’re pretty tired, and even with a boost from the Traveler’s divine power, you don’t know how much longer you’ll last tonight. 

Then, you take a look at Saint’s ass as he bends over to pick up an errant sock, and think yeah, yeah, you could do with some more of that. 

You finish your drink, set your glass on the bedside table, and present yourself enticingly for Saint. When he turns around, his brow plates shift and there’s a glint in his eye. He places your clothes atop the dresser, taking his sweet time, but you can play his game now. You’re not insatiably horny anymore. You can handle a little tease. 

When he’s done playing around, Saint descends on you in one swift, predatory motion, kissing you hungrily and straddling you. You eagerly rise to meet him. His tongue mod toys at your lip, and you invite him in with enthusiasm. The two of you feel each other, mapping the outlines of muscles and plating with gentle hands. You reach for his cock, running your fingers from the base to the tip. He trembles, but mutters, “Wait.” 

Despite having seen this before, it’s still unnerving that he can talk clearly with his mouth full.

You pull away and dart your tongue out to lick your lips. “You alright?” 

“Yes, my love.” He cups your cheek. “Let me take care of you?” 

You laugh. “I think you already did that.” 

He shakes his head, and you watch him figure out how to rephrase. “I want to  eat you out .”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling very small. How forward of him.

“You have done enough for me tonight. Let me look after you.” 

You want to protest. Sex isn’t an act of exhange. You’re willing to give him as much as he wants. But, you know if you try to tell him that, he’ll probably disagree. 

“Are you sure I can’t do something else for you?” 

He laughs lowly. “My love, I am almost certain my pelvic receptors are damaged from how hard I went earlier. I don’t think you can.” 

“Ouch. Sorry.” 

“It’s nothing Geppetto can’t fix, and it is not painful.” He bumps your forehead with his. “Do you still want this?” 

“Mhm.” You stretch up to steal a kiss from him. He smooths a hand over your hair. You suddenly realize how sweaty you are, and you’re a little embarrassed. 

“Then lie back and let me do the work. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You immediately disobey him by clutching his face in both your hands and pulling him into a deep, longing kiss. Enough with the feverish, desperate kisses. It’s time to show him your love. You part your lips for him and trace his zygomatic plate with your thumb. He kisses back tenderly, nothing but warmth in his movements. 

He breaks away and stares at you for a moment, as though he’s about to forget what you look like. Then, he descends. First he draws the tip of his tongue across your neck. You clutch at him and make an indescribable little noise. He moves lower, nipping at your collarbone with his plated mouth, kissing the thickest part of your chest. He draws his mouth down from your sternum, over your navel, and then finally reaches your  clit . 

He eats you out in the way you both love and hate, using his tongue to slowly tease moans out of you, trailing void across your stomach and thighs with featherlight fingertips. It’s less desperate and urgent than your earlier coupling, but feels nearly as good. You watch him with awe. His optics are offline, flickering to life occasionally to check in on you. Synthetic muscles in his neck and back move and writhe as he bobs up and down. He’s beautiful. 

It takes you considerably less time to climax this round. Saint works you through it, holding your shuddering hips, encouraging you, and dutifully paying attention to your clit the whole time. When you finish and collapse against the bed, limbs turned to jelly, he kisses all the way up your chest and back to your mouth. 

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, his fingers running through your hair, “I will take you out to dinner, and then we will have a night in.” 

“Mm.” You turn onto your side and tuck yourself against him. He’s still warm, but not as hot as before. “Featuring more of this?” 

“Ha!” He runs a hand down your back. “If you want.” 

You’re about ready to fall asleep right there, but you should probably go clean yourself off. You give Saint a parting kiss, pick up some PJ’s, and trundle into the bathroom for a quick shower. It’s more difficult to walk than you’d like to admit. When you return to your room, freshly bathed, Saint has nested in your pillows. He’s reading something on a datapad. 

You crawl into bed beside him and wrap one arm around his waist, using his pectoral plate as a pillow. “I missed you.” You said it earlier, but you want him to hear it again. 

“I missed you as well, my love.” He resumes stroking your hair like he was before. It sends a shiver down your spine. Not in a sexual way, but just… pleasant. You’re content. You could stay here forever. 

You press a kiss to the plating nearest to your mouth. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, my bird.”


	2. 1.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch2 features a guardian with a penis.

As soon as your apartment door shuts, the two of you are all over each other. It feels like centuries since the two of you shared anything more than a polite kiss. Your hands are everywhere; Saint has a handful of your ass, and you palm the shape of his pectoral plate with the hand that isn't holding him to your face. His void licks at you like an icy flame, and in return your arc dances along his arms and shoulders. You grind your hips into him, and he moans softly, and oh, how you've missed that sound. 

The two of you have been remarkably unlucky lately. The Vanguard has had you off-planet frequently, and on top of them, your other contacts in the Reef and on Mercury have kept you away from Earth. The few times you've been back, Saint has been busy with his own tasks. You've barely had time to converse in person, let alone have a romantic evening together. You've missed him in more ways than one, and there's only so much a few spicy texts can do for your libido. You've been wanting him for weeks, but your schedules haven't aligned, and you're not exactly the "quickie in an alleyway" kind of couple. The two of you need time and space to do this right, and tonight, the opportunity has arisen. 

It takes a somewhat embarrassing amount of time for you to realize that the tongue caressing your lips is corporeal. Saint has a tongue mod in. This absolutely delights you, and what delights you more is the sensation of something definitely larger than his mons gradually hardening against your thigh. Oh, you’re getting  _ deep _ dick tonight. 

You break off from kissing him partially to breathe. He takes up kissing your neck, the soft skin under your jaw, and palms at your chest. He's just as eager as you are. After stealing a few moments to bask in the sensation of his mouth on your skin, you place a hand on his face and guide him to look at you. 

"Let's go to bed, hey?" you murmur. He nods vigorously in response. 

"May I carry you, my love?" he asks. There's no hint of the usual shyness in his voice that comes with him asking something of you. The sudden courageousness makes your heart beat faster.

"Yeah," you say, and Saint sweeps you into his arms. Any time Saint's carried you like this, you've found yourself giggling like a child. Being scooped up by such a muscular man just gives you the laughs. It’s sort of silly and ridiculous to be cradled like this, but you love it. 

You traverse the apartment, and Saint sets you on the bed, facing him. You drag him down immediately. You don’t have time for the formality of lovemaking. You want Saint, and you want him  _ now.  _ He seems equally eager, wiggling out of his pants as you pull him on top of you. You feel his cock against you, supple silicone rubbing against your thigh, and you reach down and grab it in a loose fist. Saint’s fans kick up with a whine as he moans into your mouth. You slowly learn the length of the shaft, the anatomy of the tip. It’s not one of the fancy ones with fluids or anything, but you’re not picky, especially not right now. 

You retract your hand and hook a leg around his hips, trying to nudge him into rolling over. “Lie down, lie down,” you say urgently. Saint obliges you, rolling onto his back, and you thrust your hips against him. He makes a sound remarkably like a gasp.

“My love, the lubricant -”

“Fuck the lube,” you say breathlessly, and kiss his mouth, his stomach, the tip of his cock. 

“I’ve hardly gotten your clothes off - ah!” 

You barely hear him as you take as much of him into your mouth as you can. Saint shouts and barely restrains himself from bucking his hips against you. You’re thankful for that; as eager as you are to suck him off, you also don’t want to end up missing teeth. Saint’s body is a powerful machine, and while you’re not made of glass, he could very easily break you. You’re not feeling like calling your Ghost in to fix a shattered face tonight. 

You settle into a steady rhythm, laving over his dick with your lips and tongue and the occasional soft graze of teeth. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you pleasure with your hand. It’s messy, and a little gross, but all you want is to hear Saint moan (and, boy, is he fulfilling that wish) and to get his dick in you as fast as possible. Saint squirms under your ministrations, muttering disjointed praise, desperate after weeks of nothing. You love it when he’s like this - flustered, moaning your name, and at your mercy.

(Just lubing him up and getting him to stick it in you would be faster. You know this. You both know this. But, neither of you are complaining, and frankly, fucking Saint into overstimulation is something you’ve been longing to do for what feels like eons.) 

“My love,” he says, and the words are filled with static, “I will not last.” 

_ I know, _ you want to reply, but your mouth is full of dick. You don’t want him to. You want to hear him, to feel his heat, to remember the sounds of his you’ve spent many lonely evenings trying to recreate in your own mind.

The hot air from his vents ruffles your hair like a stiff breeze. You begin to work faster, and he arches his hips into you. He’s gentle about it, and you can tell it’s taking him tremendous effort to hold back. His thighs tremble with the strain. 

His moans grow higher and higher in pitch until they disappear as his modulator clicks off. He’s close. You take him as deep as you can, drawing your tongue from what must be hilt to tip. With one final thrust of his hips, he comes, his thighs clenching (again, gently) around your head. As you help him ride out the orgasm, his hands card through your hair. It’s a cute, tender gesture. You know how much he loves to do that. 

You pull off him and sit up on your knees. While he’s recovering, his fans whirring, you set out to strip yourself of your clothes. Saint watches you through lidded eyes. His gaze traces the contour of your hipbone, the curve of your chest. You blush under his appraisal. It’s hard to explain how that look makes you feel. Right now, it’s certainly making you feel something deep in your loins. 

As you’re just about out of your undergarments, Saint sits up and shifts toward you to pull you into a kiss. It amazes you how a robot man twice your size and thrice your weight can feel so soft against you. You’ve kissed him a  _ lot, _ but it never fails to surprise you. When he’s not taking huge chunks out of enemy numbers, he might be the gentlest creature alive. 

When you've discarded your underwear, he hauls you into his lap. You pull yourself as close to him as you can.  Your chests meet, and his cock, still slick, is pressed against your stomach, sitting perfectly next to your own erect dick . Saint's tongue is in your mouth, and his hands trace the musculature of your back. You feel perfectly at home here. 

But, you have things that need attending to. You break off from kissing Saint. His eyes bore into yours, searching for your desires. Thankfully, he doesn't have to look very hard to find them. 

"I need you to fuck me," you say in a voice that's barely above a whisper. 

His hand trails over your shoulder and down your chest. When his thumb touches your nipple, you shudder. "You're not ready," he murmurs, painting circles across it with the soft padding of his thumb. 

"Come on, Saint," you whine. " I'm so horny already . Just fuck me."

It feels lewd to say, like something out of a porno. But it's true. 

His hand moves lower, over your stomach. "I won't be responsible for hurting you."  One large hand wraps around your cock and you make a sound halfway between a moan and a growl. 

You shove his shoulder out of desperation. "Stop fucking teasing me like this!"  He begins to stroke you quickly . "Asshole!" 

He looks up at you, eyes wide with fake innocence, like a kid who just broke his neighbour's window playing soccer. "No need for such language, my bird." You bite your lip and let out a strangled whine. "Lie down. I will take care of you."

"Saint!" You grab him by the chin and force him to look at you. "I need you to rail me. Like, now." 

His mouth quirks mischievously, and you want to slap him. "Lie down, then, and we will get there."

You say several rude words in frustration as you slide off his lap and position yourself on your back against some cushions. Thank the Traveler, Saint wastes no more time and slips a finger into you as soon as you're ready. You're embarrassed by how loud your pleasured groan is. You've been getting yourself off while the two of you have been apart, but there's nothing like the feeling of someone else finger-fucking you. 

His second finger goes in with no problem.  You’re so aroused  that it hardly matters to you that he’s doubled the width of what’s going in there. Saint kisses the inside of your thigh as he works, and the sensation shoots fire into your loins. 

“Please,” you say. “I’m ready, I swear.” 

Saint nuzzles your thigh and hot air fans across your skin. “I am not taking any chances.”

You appreciate the concern, and on most other nights, you’d be happy that he’s taking such care. Tonight, though, you’re beyond frustrated, and you  _ know  _ he’s teasing you at this point. You want to tell him that, but all that comes out of your mouth is an irritated huff that’s cut off by Saint curling his fingers up inside you. 

By the time he fits a third finger in, you’re desperately thrusting your hips into his hand. It feels good, but it’s not  _ enough.  _ You want to feel Saint - all of him - inside you. You want him to fuck you into oblivion. To wherever void Light comes from. 

He finally pulls out. You feel like you’ve exhausted all forms of begging him, so thank god that’s over. You scramble onto your knees, ass up, face nuzzled in your bed’s many pillows, while Saint readies himself. He draws a long, appreciative stroke down your back with one hand, and wastes no time after that. 

The two of you moan in unison when his cock goes in. He feels  _ so good.  _ He fills you just right; not too much, but enough that every inch of surface area inside you is touching him. He’s perfect. Head to toe, lips to dick, he is perfect. 

“As hard as you can.” It’s difficult to find balance between feeling deliciously out of breath and raising your voice enough to get over the muffling effect of your pillows. “Please.” 

“You will tell me if it is too much?” 

“Yes,” you reply, and wiggle your hips impatiently. You hear him chuckle softly, and then his hands grip your hips.

The first few thrusts are slow as he finds his pace and warms you both up. You encourage him with little moans and he goes faster, faster, until the bed shakes from the force. Fuck, it feels good. You're both running so hot, and he's fucking you so hard you see stars. Maybe. You're not sure. Maybe he's got some void Light fuckery going on. Either way, it's  _ delightful.  _

You honestly can't contain yourself. You moan at him, speak to him, urge him on with whimpers and praise that draw low noises of pleasure out of him in response. “Please - Saint - ah -  _ ohgodIloveyousomuch - _ ”

He slows slightly, but you're not mad. The lengthy draw of his cock in and out of you is enough sensation to make you gasp. One of his hands drifts away from your hips, and you suddenly feel it around your cock again . Ever the gentleman.  You could for sure come from him fucking you like this, but the extra sensation is wonderful . But, you want him to focus on fucking you as hard and as fast as he can. You grab his wrist and guide his hand away, replacing his  hand  with your own and  making quick, desperate flicks of your wrist . Saint resumes his pace from earlier, and the sensation of him fucking you and you pleasuring yourself is almost too much. 

You feel his hips start to stutter against you. Heat from his fans washes over your back like a wave. Saint bows forward, his chest nearly flush against your lower back, and comes with a glorious moan that drives you higher, higher, but not quite there yet. He notices you still going at it and does his best to recover quickly enough to start thrusting into you again before you lose the orgasm you’re chasing. 

He moves arrhythmically now, still fast and hard, but at an unpredictable swing that forces you to shove your face into your pillows to keep from  _ screaming.  _ He’s so good. He’s so good to you, he knows you so well. You throw your admiration at him through fractured moaning. 

“My bird, you are radiant,” he says, and you feel the vibration of his baritone through your whole body. You sob. You’ve never said it to him, but you know he knows how much you love the sound of his voice and his praise. 

Finally, you feel your orgasm approaching in earnest. Your whole lower belly lights up with sensation as though it’s about to burst into flames. Saint feels it, and works a little faster (which seems like it might be impossible, but he still does it). He whispers your name, tells you how good you are, how much he’s missed this, you, how beautiful you look. 

You howl his name into the pillows like it’s being ripped from your lungs and weeks of longing spills out of your shuddering, tired body as you come like you never have before. Sparks scatter across the pillows and dissipate into the air. Your body all but dissolves into the sheets. Saint is there to catch you, looping one strong arm around your waist and tenderly fucking you through the waves of pleasure that make you tremble and cry out. After what must be centuries of delightful overstimulation, Saint pulls out and lowers your tired body down onto the bed, rolling you onto your back. 

God, you love him. 

For a while, everything is hazy. You close your eyes as your head swims and your  dick  twitches with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Other sensations gradually return - the feeling of being out of breath, the heat of Saint’s body next to you, the sound of him murmuring acclamation at you, his hand running through your hair. You relish in it for a few moments longer before opening your eyes and looking at your lover. 

“I imagine you missed me?” He’s propped up on his side, cushioning his head with one arm and using that hand to play with your hair. 

You snort at him. “That’s one way to put it.” 

He chuckles softly. “I missed you, too.” He sits up and leans over you, kissing your mouth softly, but with desperation. The hand he’s not using to hold himself up skates along your waist and travels the length of your hipbone to rest between your legs. 

“Whoa, hey,” you murmur. He stops immediately. “I need, like, five minutes.” 

He chuckles again and vents a soft breath into your face. “Of course, my love. I will get you some water.” 

“Aw.” You pat his cheek. “You care about me or something?” 

Saint shakes his head, but he’s smiling. 

You would love to keep going here and now for the whole entire night if you could, but you need a breather. The Light can speed up recovery time, but even a power so strong as yours can’t instantly bring you back from the hardest you’ve probably ever come in your immortal life. Saint, the lucky bastard, doesn’t have to worry about that, but your flesh body can only take so much. 

Saint returns with a glass of cold water before you even notice he’s left. You thank him quietly and sit up against the headboard of your bed so you don’t spill all over yourself when you try to drink. You didn’t realize how dry your throat was until that first sip. It feels good to be hydrated, and you’re glad Saint thought about it. As you sit in silence, you look at your body and notice thumbprint shaped bruises on your hips. Oops. The man responsible for those putters about the room as you drink, picking up discarded clothes and pillows shoved off the bed. 

You pause for a moment and observe how you feel now that you’ve come down from your post-orgasm delirium. Can you go another round? You’re pretty tired, and even with a boost from the Traveler’s divine power, you don’t know how much longer you’ll last tonight. 

Then, you take a look at Saint’s ass as he bends over to pick up an errant sock, and think yeah, yeah, you could do with some more of that. 

You finish your drink, set your glass on the bedside table, and present yourself enticingly for Saint. When he turns around, his brow plates shift and there’s a glint in his eye. He places your clothes atop the dresser, taking his sweet time, but you can play his game now. You’re not insatiably horny anymore. You can handle a little tease. 

When he’s done playing around, Saint descends on you in one swift, predatory motion, kissing you hungrily and straddling you. You eagerly rise to meet him. His tongue mod toys at your lip, and you invite him in with enthusiasm. The two of you feel each other, mapping the outlines of muscles and plating with gentle hands. You reach for his cock, running your fingers from the base to the tip. He trembles, but mutters, “Wait.” 

Despite having seen this before, it’s still unnerving that he can talk clearly with his mouth full.

You pull away and dart your tongue out to lick your lips. “You alright?” 

“Yes, my love.” He cups your cheek. “Let me take care of you?” 

You laugh. “I think you already did that.” 

He shakes his head, and you watch him figure out how to rephrase. “I want to  suck you off .”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling very small. How forward of him.

“You have done enough for me tonight. Let me look after you.” 

You want to protest. Sex isn’t an act of exchange. You’re willing to give him as much as he wants. But, you know if you try to tell him that, he’ll probably disagree. 

“Are you sure I can’t do something else for you?” 

He laughs lowly. “My love, I am almost certain my pelvic receptors are damaged from how hard I went earlier. I don’t think you can.” 

“Ouch. Sorry.” 

“It’s nothing Geppetto can’t fix, and it is not painful.” He bumps your forehead with his. “Do you still want this?” 

“Mhm.” You stretch up to steal a kiss from him. He smooths a hand over your hair. You suddenly realize how sweaty you are, and you’re a little embarrassed. 

“Then lie back and let me do the work. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You immediately disobey him by clutching his face in both your hands and pulling him into a deep, longing kiss. Enough with the feverish, desperate kisses. It’s time to show him your love. You part your lips for him and trace his zygomatic plate with your thumb. He kisses back tenderly, nothing but warmth in his movements. 

He breaks away and stares at you for a moment, as though he’s about to forget what you look like. Then, he descends. First he draws the tip of his tongue across your neck. You clutch at him and make an indescribable little noise. He moves lower, nipping at your collarbone with his plated mouth, kissing the thickest part of your chest. He draws his mouth down from your sternum, over your navel, and then finally reaches your  cock . 

He sucks you off in the way you both love and hate, using his tongue to slowly tease moans out of you, trailing void across your stomach and thighs with featherlight fingertips. It’s less desperate and urgent than your earlier coupling, but feels nearly as good. You watch him with awe. His optics are offline, flickering to life occasionally to check in on you. Synthetic muscles in his neck and back move and writhe as he bobs up and down. He’s beautiful. 

It takes you considerably less time to climax this round. Saint works you through it, holding your shuddering hips, encouraging you, and dutifully paying attention to your dick the whole time. When you finish and collapse against the bed, limbs turned to jelly, he kisses all the way up your chest and back to your mouth. 

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, his fingers running through your hair, “I will take you out to dinner, and then we will have a night in.” 

“Mm.” You turn onto your side and tuck yourself against him. He’s still warm, but not as hot as before. “Featuring more of this?” 

“Ha!” He runs a hand down your back. “If you want.” 

You’re about ready to fall asleep right there, but you should probably go clean yourself off. You give Saint a parting kiss, pick up some PJ’s, and trundle into the bathroom for a quick shower. It’s more difficult to walk than you’d like to admit. When you return to your room, freshly bathed, Saint has nested in your pillows. He’s reading something on a datapad. 

You crawl into bed beside him and wrap one arm around his waist, using his pectoral plate as a pillow. “I missed you.” You said it earlier, but you want him to hear it again. 

“I missed you as well, my love.” He resumes stroking your hair like he was before. It sends a shiver down your spine. Not in a sexual way, but just… pleasant. You’re content. You could stay here forever. 

You press a kiss to the plating nearest to your mouth. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, my bird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for readin!

**Author's Note:**

> instead of writing the next chapter of "gentle hands, tender hearts," where shit actually starts to get romantic, I wrote this instead. oops. hope you enjoyed!


End file.
